


Skyrim - Short stories

by Shraider



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst?, Dragonslaying, Drama with the Thalmor, Friendship, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 09:05:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8572450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shraider/pseuds/Shraider
Summary: Most assume that the dragonborn would be a nord even though the prophecies never really foretold who they would be. They certainly never foretold of the tiny little dark elf who would quietly step into the role. A few short tales following the story of young dunmer realizing his power and purpose and the mercenary who ended up befriending him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote these so freaking long ago but I still kind of enjoy them? I'm thinking of maybe continuing with the story so I thought I'd post it.

Relaxing back in his chair, the mercenary took another swig of his ale as his eyes flicked around the room. He knew the majority of the patrons of this tavern fairly well, or at least their faces. He was beginning to think he should move on from this place, perhaps Whiterun or Solitude would have more work for a mercenary. It never used to be this way, not before Ulfric had become a fugitive. People just didn’t come to Wildhelm anymore.

Sighing into his stein, his gaze then fell on a figure who had just entered the room. Someone new? They were thin and small in stature wearing a heavy cloak that covered the majority of their body. A child? Or maybe a woman… from the glimpses he got under the cloak as the figure moved, they were wearing robes. A mage? No…they weren’t quite mage robes.

Intrigued, if only because this person was a new face, he watched the figure order a drink and sit down heavily at a table just across the room from him. At a closer look he noticed blood splattered across the cloak, soaking into the persons robe. 

Suddenly finding himself standing, Stenvar paused for a moment wondering what he was about to do. Shrugging internally, he approached the strangers table and took a seat across from them. 

“Are you ok?” He questioned, leaning forward on the table that was dwarfed by his size. 

“hm?” Stenvars eyes widened in surprise when the stranger raised their gaze as if it was the first time they had noticed him despite his size. Not only was the strangers skin as black as coal with glittering red eyes, but it was distinctly male. This wasn’t a woman or child but a tiny little dunmer. “Oh. I’m fine.”

Taking a moment to get over his shock, the mercenary could clearly see the pain and fatigue on the dark elf face. “You sure? You look injured.” 

“It’s not bad.” The dark elf said distantly, looking up at the mercenary from under his hood for a moment before down at his side. Now that he was up close, the large gash across the dunmers side was hard to miss even with the cloak half covering it. 

“What happened?” The mercenary asked, nodding toward the injury. 

“Mm…it was just a run in with some guys while on the road…” Stenvar studied the dark elf for a moment in surprise. How many guys had he fought? Had he been alone? Had his party been killed? He looked young, but despite that, old scars that appeared as battle wounds marred the right side of his face. And those eyes…those eerie red eyes held a profound exhaustion. 

“You should get that looked after…” The mercenary commented taking a swig of his ale. 

“It will heal in time. I ran out of potions and don’t know any healing spell.” The dunmer shrugged off his wet and snow covered cloak, finally seeming more aware now that the cold was leaving him. His shoulder length silver hair was wet, hanging in strings and still half frozen clumps around his face.

“Y’know.” The mercenary leaned back again, eying the dark elf. “If you want any protection, or just some help on the road, you won’t find a sharper sword in all of skyrim. The names Stenvar.” 

The dunmer raised his gaze to meet the mercenary. “I’m assuming that’s if I hire you.” He had played his game before. 

“Well…” Stenvar frowned, taken aback at the bluntness of the words. “I suppose there would be an initial fee. But it’s not much and I’ll help you out for as long as you need it after that.”

The dunmer contemplated this for a moment. It wasn’t as if he was broke. And since the wood elf that has been helping him reach High Hrothgar had left, he was feeling more vulnerable than ever, particularly with where he had to go. 

“Kiiriyn.” The dunmer finally spoke, holding out a hand to the mercenary who reached out to shake for the introduction. The small hand was nearly lost in the bigger one. “I suppose help would be appreciated. How much are you asking for?” 

“I usually charge around 500 gold.” 

At the words, Kiiriyn’s mouth lolled open. It was the most expressive he’d been since he’d arrived. “You call that a small fee?” 

Stenvar only shrugged helplessly as the defeated dunmer handed over the majority of his savings muttering something about how he better be the sharpest sword. 

\-----------------------------  
I don’t remember much of the early years of my childhood but I think that’s probably for the best. Sometimes I wish that I had forgotten more. I was never much of anything in my family. Everyone said that I was always to small and weak to amount to anything in my families profession, yet not smart enough to do much of anything else.

I hate myself for thinking this but maybe it was best that we were driven out of Morrowind. At least then my life hadn’t become something worse. I was already the useless son of a soldier at 16, what would I have become if I had grown up there? 

But good or bad, fate left us homeless. When the war came my father and older brother had managed to escape but not without cost, I don’t even remember the last moment I had with my mother. Not in the dust and the smoke and the screams as people fled in every direction. 

It was then that we had travelled towards Skyrim with a band of other refugees. The snow capped mountains and trees were so new to me back then but I remember being excited. That excitement ended after a year on the road. The chill air and harsh conditions were hard on me, on us, a people who lived in heat and whose blood was more akin to fire. 

But the life on the road also came to an end. It was the first time I had ever seen a troll. I’ve never been so afraid in my life. Even when our town was sacked the danger had been unseen in the blaze of fire and screams. But the troll. The troll was real and close and dangerous. 

My father and brother took up arms first, being two of the only refugees who knew the sword. Unlike my mother, I remember their last moments as the creature bore down on them, all claws and teeth and fur. I stood frozen and horrified as it tore my brothers arm off before knocking my father twenty feet backwards into the snow with a hole in his chest. 

Only then did I manage to move. I don’t know if it was bravery or hopelessness but my hands soon found my brothers sword. As the other travellers in my caravan ran screaming as the troll mauled another victim, I swung a real sword for the first time. Unfortunately all I managed to do was make it angry. 

The backhand caught me across the face and I still bare those scars to this day. But despite the injury I stood once more. Unfortunately when I did I had 100 percent of its attention. With no one else to protect, fear once again took me and I ran. I’m not sure if it was the adrenaline that gave me speed or if the troll lost interest but when I stopped running I was alone. 

I slept, shivering, high in a tree that night. 

I’m not sure what kept me alive after that. Perhaps still hope that I would find something better in life then what I had? Or maybe it was the tiny voice in the back of my head that said I had a purpose; that I had to continue on. 

After finding my way back to the wreckage of the caravan I buried my remaining family the best I could. It was that moment that I decided I was going to be more than I was. The Kiiriyn of Morrowind was a useless son of a soldier. But the Kiiriyn of Skyrim…..He wasn’t going to be useless; he wasn’t going to be afraid or weak. 

I taught myself how to use a bow in those few weeks alone on the mountain range, hunting and surviving off the land. It had been on one of those hunts that I saw the first living person since the troll. A man, moving alone through the trees. 

I wasn’t sure why I followed him. I still ponder what my life would have been if I had turned away, left him be. But I did follow him. I followed him right into an ambush and a war between two factions that I had no idea even existed until that moment. 

I think though…that day in Helgen. That was the day, truly the day that Kiiryin was born. That was the first time I’d ever seen a dragon. 

\-------------------------------------  
As the moons were raising into the sky, the unusual pair walked up a grassy hillock towards the nearest mountain pass. The two had decided weeks ago that roads were often more inconvenient than convenient. Off-roading also gave more opportunities for the mercenary to raise his blade which kept his impatient nature sated. 

A deafening sound roared above them as the dragon swooped by, it’s buffeting wings nearly knocking the two travellers off their feet. 

Stenvar cried out in surprise and very uncharacteristically dived for cover. There were very few things he refused to fight. A dragon would be one of them. As if by a second thought he reached out for the small dark elf, his hand brushing the tunic but unable to get a grasp as the dunmar shook his surprise and stepped into the open of the field. 

“What are you doing, you idiot, you’ll get yourself killed!” The mercenary called out angrily, fear threatening the edge of his voice. 

But the words fell on deaf ears as Kiiriyn drew his bow. Squaring his shoulders, he pulled his enchanted hood further down his forehead as he watched the dragon circle. It would come back, he thought. They always did. Sure enough, as the dragon once again swooped towards them, the dark elf let out arrow after arrow in rapid succession. High in the sky, the purple enchantment of his bow glowed as it connected with the creatures thick hide.

Roaring in outrage, the beast swooped low, letting out a fiery blast towards the tiny dunmar. Kiiriyn simply lowered his head and stepped into the flame, letting it roll of his shoulders barely damaging him at all. Taking a moment to shake off the heat, he turned again on his heel and let off another two arrows, both of them connecting. 

Watching with raised brows from the shadows, Stenvar couldn’t manage to even blink. Was he truly seeing what he was seeing? This tiny dunmar, the person who he had met, bleeding in a bar only weeks previous was going toe to toe with a dragon. Sure, he was more than capable in a fight against bandits or even draugr…but this? This was crazy. The mercenaries hands tightened on his massive axe but he just couldn’t manage to make himself move out from his cover. 

As the dragon once against rounded the mountain and swooped towards the small opponent, Kiiriyn raised his bow again. Waiting until the last moment, the dark elf put one well placed arrow right into the dragons head which brought in crashing to the ground. 

Switching his bow for his shield, the dunmar ran towards the beast, unsheathing his katana as he moved. Just as the dragon raised its head towards its opponent, the dunmar leapt into the air. Catching a horn, he spun up and onto the dragons head and in the same motion slashed across its face. 

Roaring the beast whipped its neck back and forth, fire erupting from its jaws accompanied by a horrific screech, but still the dunmar held fast to his perch. Finally seeing his chance, the dark elf plunged the katana hard into the dragons eye socket before ripping it away as the heavy head fell to the ground. 

Sliding off his perch on the now dead creatures head, Kiiryin stumbled for a second, his grace from battle now gone. 

“That was amazing-“ Stenvar spoke as he stepped from the shadows. His sentence was cut short when he noticed the dragon begin to glow, its body disintegrating into ash and dust as if it’s very body was dying fire. “Wha-“ He stared wide eyed, his grin leaving in exchange for a look of awe. The dragons life force, glowing and swirling was surrounding the elf, whipping around him until it disappeared. 

“Y-you..” Stenvar stuttered, stumbling forward a step. “You’re…”

“Dragonborn.” The dark elf replied, looking up at Stenvar with a tired smile. “Let’s find a place to camp. I’m exhausted.” 

Without turning around to make sure the mercenary was following him, the dunmar moved away, sheathing his blade as he did. 

“Dragonborn…” Stenvar whispered again to himself as he watched his companion walk away. That was impossible…Kiiriyn was dunmar…the dragonborn was supposed to be a nord…right? Not only that…but he was so small, slight of build and short…how could…

Shaking his head, the mercenary hefted his weapon onto his back and started following the dark elf. He would ask later, maybe when they both had a few mugs of ale. In the weeks they had been travelling, Stenvar had found Kiiriyn to be one of the least chatty people he’d met. He still felt he knew nothing of the man.

\---  
Stenvar set a steady gaze on the dunmar from across the open fire. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Kiiriyn looked up from his roasting stick only to look down again and shrug. His hunting hood was pulled down to reveal his silvery white hair which was stark against the dark of the night. “It’s not something I spread around.” 

The mercenary only raised a brow, leaning back on his log seat and raising a brow. “Spread around, huh? To me? The mercenary you hired to fight with you? Spread around…” He muttered the last bit of the sentence as he finally turned his gaze down into the fire. 

After hearing the hurt in the nords voice, Kiiriyn’s shoulders dropped suddenly as he sighed. “I guess I didn’t think you’d believe me…or I didn’t know what you would say.” 

Stenvar pursed his lips before raising a hand to scratch the back of his head. “I suppose you’re right.” With the amount of racisim that was thrown around in Skyrim, the nords towards the dunmar was pretty bad, particularly in Wildhelm, the city they had met in. 

“I don’t like telling people, particularly nords.” When the mercenary raised his gaze, Kiiriyn raised a hand. “No offense…but most people assume the dragonborn is a nord. When they find out I’m…not……” He trailed off with a sigh and the only sound the stretched for minutes was the whistling wind and the crackle of the fire. 

“You’re a good guy.” Stenvar finally spoke causing surprise to register in the dunmar’s face. “And for me that’s all that matters, dragonborn or not. You hired me to protect you, and that I will do. Five hundred gold goes a long way does it not?”

The words only caused the dunmar to snort slightly, his lips turning up in a small but melancholy smile. 

“But y’know, personally, I think friendship goes a lot farther than that.” Stenvar leaned forward pulling one of the roasting rabbits off the fire that Kiiriyn had put there himself.

____----------------------------------------  
Pulling his hood down and wiping the sweat from his brow, the dunmar took a moment to catch his breath. He wasn’t used to such prolonged and hard won battles. This was after all the first war he’d fought in. 

The sounds of swords clashing in the direction of the draw bridge drew his attention but instead he looked down at the man he’d just slain. The sight of the nord made his stomach turn and his eyes burn. Damn Ulfric for creating this war. Damn him for sending these men to their deaths, these innocent men whose only crime was following the wrong leader. 

Bending down, he used his hand to shut the stormcloaks eyes before sitting back on his heels and mourning the loses that happened today. What was the point of this war? For the nords to reclaim Skyrim? He supposed that he didn’t know if the land was at peace before Ulfric had started this war but it most definitely was not now. How many more innocent people had to die? 

He did agree that the land belonged to the nords. Just as his home land had belonged to the dunmar before the argonians slunk in. But going to war with the empire was not the answer. The only reason he had joined the empire’s ranks in the first place was because they were the most capable at keeping peace. He had considered joining the rebellion in the beginning but realized then that all that would accomplish would be a prolonged war that would generate even more death and pain to the innocent people of Skyrim than there already was. But stopping the war quickly there would be the fewest casualties. 

Standing, the dark elf surveyed the bodies strewn across the road and up towards the city. Clenching his fists he looked down at the ground and fought off the tears. After a moment, the fact that he was alone on the street as the sounds of battle stopped caused panic to swell in his chest. Stenvar…where was Stenvar? 

Spinning around, his eyes searched up the road before down and across the field. There was no sign of the big man. In fact, he couldn’t remember when he’d last seen him….sometime at the beginning to the battle? An awful thought suddenly occurred to him as his eyes drifted down to the bodies on the road. 

Swallowing dryly, he began searching the lifeless faces as he made his way up towards the city. There was just so much death….

“Hey, you ok?” The voice startled him, causing him to spin on his heal. At the sight of the mercenary, his legs gave way with the utter relief and he slipped down to his knees. 

“Whoa! Hey, you hurt?” Stenvar stepped forward abruptly, crouched down before his friend. 

Shaking his head, Kirriyn smiled slightly, laughing as he rubbed his forehead. “I thought you had died, I was searching for your body.” 

“PFt.” The mercenary scoffed, patting the tiny dark elf on the shoulder. “Come on, the battle’s over and I think both you and I could use a drink.” 

Literally pulling Kiiriyn to his feet, Stenvar pushed him slightly jokingly. “You actually think a few stormcloaks could kill me?” He laughed, lightening the mood as the two walked by the Jarl who was giving some speech about their victory. A speech that Kiiriyn most definitely did not want to hear. 

“You’re right.” The dark elf sighed. “I really could use a drink…”

\-----------------------------------------------------------

As the two companions neared the town, Kiiriyn felt himself begin to relax. Pulling off the enchanted mask but leaving his hood up and low on his forehead, he tied the item to his belt next to his sword. 

“I don’t think I’ve been so glad to see a town in my life.” The huge mercenary stepped up to walk beside the dunmer, shortening his stride considerably to match the pace. 

Kiiriyn nodded, but in his usual manner stayed silent. This however didn’t phase Stenvar at all. “I’ll be so happy to sleep in an actual bed. When was the last time we slept in a tavern?” He asked mostly to himself as the two closed in on Morthal. “Winterhold? Whiterun? Or was is months back in Roriksted?” 

Kiiriyn smiled to himself as he listened to the mercenary talk. The two made an odd pair and an even odder friendship but made a surprisingly effective team. Stenvar was right though. They had been on the road for months, sleeping either in the grass or ‘borrowed’ bedrolls from abandoned camps or bandit hideouts. 

As they finally entered the town the sun was just lowering towards the distant mountains. A few of the townfolk glanced at the two cautiously, wary of the heavily armed merenary and the shifty looking hooded man. The majority of them nodded to the dark elf with a smile that was happily returned by Kiiriyn and, addressed him as thane before turning back towards their business. 

“How many towns are you thane in now?” Stenvar turned to Kiiriyn with a laugh as the two headed across town towards the tavern. 

“Two.” Kiiriyn finally pulled down his hood, letting his white hair loose across his shoulders. “Both titles were completely unintentional, I assure you.” 

“I believe you.” Stenvar threw a heavy arm across the dark elfs shoulders which Kiiriyn just accepted with a sigh. The mercenary had learned long ago of his friends humble nature. Most of what he did was done without thought of reward, even though a reward was usually given in the end anyway, much to Stenvars glee.  
\------------------------------------------------

It was a simple job really, not in the meaning that it would be easily accomplished, but that it took no thought or moral decisions. Mjoll, a woman who deemed herself Riften’s protector had somehow struck up a conversation with him on the street. After hearing her story, Kiiriyn had felt a sort of kinship with the woman and had decided to help her. After all, retrieving a sword from a dwemer ruin would be a relief after taking part in the emotionally tasking war between the imperials and the Stormcloaks.

With hands trembling from the cold, Kiiriyn squinted down at the map as the windblown snow stung his eyes. “It looks like we’re close.” He commented for Stenvars benefit whose eyes were searching the map as well from over his shoulder. 

“It would have been easier if that woman had marked the map properly, really what is that?” The mercenary grumbled while sticking his hands under his arms to warm them. 

Nodding in agreeance , the dark elf sighed and tucked the map back into his tunic. Looking up towards the path, he saw figures up ahead. A battle? He was shocked that he hadn’t heard the clamor yet but realized the wind was blowing in the wrong direction to carry sound. Not to mention it was deafening itself. 

Crouching down, he nodded to Stenvar to do the same and follow behind him. Ducking off the path and behind a small rise of rocks, he approached the battle quietly. Peering out from his hiding place, he squinted through the snow before finally getting a better look at the people on the road. 

Thalmor…his stomach turned and his hand tightened on the hilt of his blade angrily at the sight of them. They stood for everything that was wrong with this world, and coincidentally, everything he hated. Managing to calm his anger, he took in the entirety of the situation. They were fighting a large group of bandits. Despite being outnumbered however, the Thalmor were strong. This was a strength he knew firsthand. It wasn’t surprising at all when the bandits fell one by one. 

Hearing a battle cry about 15 feet behind him, Kiiriyn spun on his heal. Gritting his teeth, his eyes widened when he saw a second group of bandits take on Stenvar. Kiiriyn with his heritage and his small stature didn’t usually have much difficulty staying hidden or ducking into the shadows, but his friend on the other hand…. The mercenary was huge and much more skilled in running into the fray like a berserker than skilled in the art of stealth. Of course he was spotted. 

Drawing his bow quietly, the dunmar nocked an arrow before letting it fly. Meeting it’s mark , the deadly projectile dropped one of the smaller mercenaries. Unfortunately this drew two more of them away from his friend and towards the shadows he was hidden in, yet still he remained hidden. He knew he only had a second before they spotted him and used the chance to let another arrow fly. This one however missed its mark, only embedding itself into the bandits shoulder. 

Yelling in rage, the bandit launched himself towards the now seen dunmar. Shouldering his bow and pulling his shield from his back, Kiiriyn drew his blade, meeting the bandits quite easily. Parrying while deflecting the seconds bandtits blow with his shield, he cut a clean line down the first bandits chest, dropping him dead onto the snowy ground. 

As he was about to turn his attention to the second bandit, a cry of shock and pain drew his eyes behind the man just in time to see Stenvar drop to one knee. Eyes widening and gritting his teeth in anger and fear, the dunmar threw himself into the battle with the first bandit, all the while very aware that Stenvar could be killed at any moment. 

But for some reason, the bandits left his friend to drop injured to the ground to instead rush his direction. What….

“Scum!” 

The cry from behind him told him exactly why. He had almost forgotten about the Thalmor. Blinking Kiiriyn refocused on the bandit before him who was just raising his weapon to strike again. Knocking the weapon away, the dark elf struck him hard with the front of his shield before taking the opportunity to cut him down. 

Before he even decided what to do next, pain tore through his body. A lighting attack…he recognized it easily as it sapped his strength and stole his breath. This was one of the Thalmor Justiciar’s signature moves. 

Letting out a gasp of pain and anger, he pushed through the pain, spinning on his heal and turning on the fast approaching elves. Raising his shield, he rushed forward blocking a first attack and slashing the Soldier across both legs dropping his screeching with pain to the ground. 

Lungs burning with every hard breath, the dunmar felt the panic raise in his chest as he found himself quickly surrounded. At least he didn’t have to worry about the bandits, he thought bitterly as he watched the thieves being taken out by the Thalmor. 

Raising his shield, he spun around slowly waiting for an attack yet none came. 

“I remember your face.” 

Kiiriyn turned slowly towards the one who spoke. One of the more impressive Justiciar’s in stature and one he indeed recognized. Damn…Frowning, he said nothing to the scowling Thalmor agent. 

“You think you can infiltrate our headquarters, kill our soldiers and get away with it? Fool.” 

Kiiriyn felt his heart thundering in his chest. By the gods they were going to kill him. How many times had he faced his end? Too many to count. Since his life in Skyrim began he had decided not to fear death. If he lived his life tiptoing around the idea that he might die then what could he ever accomplish? But going out like this? At the hands of the Thalmor, without a fight or a just cause….No…

Eying the crackling electricity in the Judiciar’s hand, he launched himself forward towards the man. His path was quickly blocked by a footsoldier that raised a shield of his own. Colliding with the man purposefully and nearly bowling him over, he caught the attack of a second soldier with Dragonbane while simultaneously deflecting another attack with his shield.  
Turning, he managed to bring down one of the men with a slash across his throat before he felt the pain of the electricity hit him again. 

Growling in pain, he managed to throw another blow before one struck him across his unarmoured back. Crying out in shock, he fell to one knee dropping his shield and gasping for breath. At least the spell ended. 

Breathing hard in pain, he attempted to climb to his feet but found that he just didn’t have the strength. He considered then reaching for a potion but realized that he’d be killed before he would even manage to uncork it. 

As he waited for his end, mind racing for some way to somehow stop it, he felt his sword kicked from his hand. Slumping down onto both knees, he finally raised his gaze towards the judiciar who had circled round to stand before him. He finally managed to remember his name, Ondolemar, the one who’d he spoken with at that party.  
“It’s Kiiriyn, if I remember correctly.” The Judiciar spoke, crossing his arms and looking down his nose at the dark elf. “You truly are a fool, giving your real name to your enemy if your intentions were to steal from them.” 

Kiiriyn grimaced at the words. That was true indeed. When Elenwen had asked him his name he had frozen up, giving his own just out of habit nervousness. He hadn’t even thought about what the repercussions might be. 

“We know you’re with the blades.” Ondolemar said, noticing the dunmar flinch. “If you tell me where to find them I might let you go with your life.” 

Keeping his mouth shut, Kiiriyn narrowed his eyes at the altmer. His glare would have been dangerous if his strength wasn’t completely gone. Even now he could feel his mind fading as his blood seeped from the wound across his back and the cold penetrated his body. 

“Very well.” The Justiciar smiled nastily at the dunmar. “Then you forfeit your freedom. Not like you hadn’t already done that the moment you joined with the blades.” 

As Ondolemar turned away, the other Thalmor converged on the defenseless dunmar. Using the little strength he had left, Kiiriyn fought the grasping hands that pulled him to his feet. But his strength was quickly depleted as they dragged him towards the path and the horse drawn wagon what waited there.

“It seemed that fortune smile upon us when we reclaimed this wagon from those bandits.” Ondolemar spoke to the other Justiciar as Kiiriyn was thrown painfully into the back of the wagon. He wasn’t left alone long as his hands were drawn to the wooden railing and shackled there to prevent any escape. 

Slumping against the wood, he peered out towards the fallen bodies of the bandits, his eyes falling on the form of his friend. Please be alive…Kiiriyn thought desperately as the wagon started moving. If he had gotten the mercenary killed because of his stupid quest…

They hadn’t yet searched him so he still had options to escape. But as injured and outnumbered as he was….he wouldn’t be able accomplish anything right now. Shutting his eyes in defeat he finally let his mind drift off.

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don't know why one of the passages is written in first person, holy shit. I normally never write in first person because it's terrible and I hate that kind of story telling? I want to change it but the amount of work that would take is currently beyond me at the moment. So sorry ^^


End file.
